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I can’t see the logo…

We were previewing numerous campaign ideas today, tacked up in the wall, comprising the usual bits: potential tag lines, assorted copy, found images and various “ad-like objects.” Being the first internal round of discussion the work was still quite primitive. This meant the usual caveats had to be given to those seeing the work for the very first time: it’s not ready yet… it’s not right yet… etc. God forbid anyone judge our earliest efforts as finished products. Alas, God has little interest in creative presentations. Regardless of set up, someone invariably criticizes ad like objects as if they were completed ads.

Inevitable as it is painful.

A while back I prefaced a creative presentation by telling my audience that the work was in its first trimester, barely more than a nucleus of an idea. I figured someone viewing an early sonogram wasn’t going to comment on how handsome or ugly it was. At this time we should only be concerned about the embryo’s validity. Is it legitimate? Is it growing properly?

The second view of a sonogram is when we see the child for what it will become, it’s vital organs, the sex, and perhaps certain features. The same applies for the second round of creative. This is when we can see if there are any abnormalities that require serious intervention or, forgive my frankness, termination.

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But does it have legs?

If we are fortunate enough to have a third internal viewing, this is where our babies better be in good shape and ready for delivery. Like prepping a child’s room, now is when we begin building the presentation in earnest. More pain. Preparing the “deliverables” is always stressful for the expecting.

Finally, The delivery day is upon us! Hopefully, the client (our adoptive parents) adores the baby as much as we do. Yet, even then we caveat our creation. Or worse manufacture a Frankenstein right before their eyes.

Still, it beats digging ditches.

For the delivery of excellent copy and ad like objects, I’m your daddy: https://steffanwork.wordpress.com/

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“If you had my life you’d be tired too.”

Driving my daughters home the other day, I had on a sports radio channel (much to their chagrin) and it featured a Dos Equis commercial for The Most Interesting Man in the World. Everyone knows the advertising campaign, done by Euro RSCG in New York. When it first came out, this witty, unexpected idea took the world by storm, garnering much deserved praise from Adland as well as from everyone else with ears and eyes. Among its many virtues, The Most Interesting Man in the World was so unlike anything else in its category. While Miller Lite and Bud Light kept trying to make three dudes on a couch funny, Dos Equis eschewed all that in favor of an urbane, older rogue living a robust life of magnanimous proportions. A man of action, he spoke little but when he did it was fantastic: “I don’t always drink beer but when I do, I drink Dos Equis.” And the kicker: “Stay thirsty my friends!” Brilliant.

But… half way through the 60-second spot, my 12-year-old daughter makes a comment from the back seat: “The most interesting man doesn’t seem so interesting anymore.”

Excluding the much-deserved praise, I won’t criticize advertising done by my previous agency. Yet my kid’s observation made me curious: When does something get old? We are all familiar with the term, “jumping the shark” pointing to an exact time and place something heretofore wonderful becomes suddenly not. The term was coined over an episode of Happy Days. In it, a water-skiing Fonzie jumps a shark too prove his cool. Game over. Happy Days were no longer here again.

But many great things don’t implode so obviously. Rather they fade away like a summer romance. Something changes and we move on. More important things replace the cute lifeguard.

There’s a great episode of the Simpson’s where Bart becomes famous for one of his catch phrases: “I didn’t do it.” The whole world, Springfield anyway, seizes upon its boyish exuberance. Everyone in town begins using the line to get out of blame and then just for a laugh. “I didn’t do it” gets plastered on tee-shirts. Bart goes on Conan. Soon, however, everyone gets sick of the line, including Bart. His fame dies and he learns how transient such things are.

Despite its ever-growing legions of critics, we must note, ironically, that even after 20 years the Simpson’s franchise keeps chugging along.

Everything else has an expiration date, a point where the content isn’t good and/or appreciated anymore. Unfortunately, most people, places and things don’t realize this until it’s too late. Just ask Michael Jordan or Brett Farve. Look at certain long running TV shows. When Desperate Housewives first aired we were captivated. Now its stars are more famous for their real botched romances and, indeed, real housewives have become more popular. Ad campaigns are no different. After more than ten years my beloved “curiously strong” Altoids campaign is anything but. It may be sad but it is inevitable. One day something is “curiously strong” or “the most interesting” and then it isn’t.

Back in the day, when creatives presented ideas the question was always asked: Does it have legs? We’d answer in the affirmative, showing dozens of executions based on the core idea. But maybe all that that proved was we could beat a dead horse. Popular culture doesn’t like repetition. Familiarity breeds contempt. The moral: Try something else, my friends!